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Vol. 40 - A Week In London

this week I discover new found empathy, useless drugs, and a cabin in the woods





Happy Sunday, everyone. I hope you have all had a lovely week and haven’t let the recent torrential rain dampen your moods. Despite returning home to a monsoon and a considerable drop in temperature after nearly three weeks in LA, I can say with certainty that I am very happy to be home. So, I thought the perfect topic for this week’s issue would be a week in the life to get back into the swing of things. With this format, there will be a good mix of musings, diary-like entries, product and clothing recommendations, as well as places to eat and things to watch! Instead of a playlist, I will be linking a song for each day — one that I think captures my mood the best foe whatever I’m writing about. If you are more interested in what I did in LA, I will probably post a separate mini guide as an interim newsletter so it will be easier to find :) Anyway, let’s begin the week with a good dose of heavy jetlag and overthinking.




As expected, jetlag had well and truly fucked me, so Henry and I woke at 3 am (despite me popping a melatonin a few hours before, which tells me I should up my dose) in a daze, trying to figure out whether it was worth getting out of bed or not. Eventually, Henry got up to make tea and watch TV, and I made the most of the new bed real estate to try and doze off again. The few occasions I find myself waking suddenly in the early hours can usually be attributed to times I am overwhelmed with stress and anxiety. I knew that on this occasion, I was only awake due to my recent flight; however, my brain’s muscle memory defaulted to those anxiety-ridden nights and went into overdrive. Not my ideal way to start the week, but this was the case, nonetheless. So, what was on my mind? The first thing that went through my head was a confusing combination of Taylor Swift’s Vault Tracks from 1989 and the current events in Israel and Palestine. The last six weeks have been an interesting time to be on social media, and I hadn’t realised how much of a toll it had taken on my mental health until I was alone with my thoughts and Taylor Swift at 3 am. This realisation brought me onto a second train of thought. I thought about how getting ‘softer’ (for lackof a better word) with age had made things so much harder for me mentally. Perhaps I didn’t have the self-awareness to realise that I’d struggled with my mental health previously, but it feels as though something I’ve become more aware of in recent years. I’ve spoken briefly about my childhood through to my early 20s when I was largely a very angry and self-centred person. I lacked empathy (which I put down to living in somewhat of a bubble), and I genuinely could not give a flying fuck if I upset or hurt someone because I didn’t have the emotional capacity to understand the implications. As I’ve become more emotionally intelligent, I’ve also become more empathetic than I ever thought I could be. In a job that relies on feedback from a large group of strangers, I’ve also become even more attuned to the thoughts and feelings of people I don’t even know. Prior to my trip to LA, I’d taken a short social media break for the sake of my mental health, which is something I’d never thought I’d have to do.

Initially, I put it down to the abuse I’d been receiving for discussing the current events in Israel and Palestine. The combination of reading and seeing traumatising images and stories, coupled with a stream of angry (and often threatening) messages, was consuming a large part of my waking life. I have a pretty thick skin and had always brushed off horrible message in the past, sometimes even finding myself amused by them, so why was it different this time? It wasn’t until I’d had time to reflect on this sleepless Monday that I realised a big part of my pain had actually come from feeling like I’d hurt and disappointed people — a problem that an old version of me would never have had. Old, stoic Tamsin would be saying get fucked to anyone who had an issue with how she carried herself. She certainly wouldn’t be losing sleep or mental space to it, nor would she even dream of explaining herself.

As I lay in the pitch black with my eyes wide open, I thought about my friends affected and whether I’d unintentionally hurt them with anything I’d said. I also thought about my followers and how many of them were hurting in the same way my friends were. I thought about how gracious many people were in having frank discussions with me in my DMs in an attempt to educate me on the topic, which I have the utmost respect for, as I can understand how it is often a burden to teach others about a struggle that has impacted your life. I also thought about the people who had misinterpreted me and sent me some of the worst messages I’ve ever received in my 30 years on this earth. How my intention to not cause any further pain or hurt had potentially done more harm than good to some. I think this is the hardest part of the parasocial relationship for me because when people feel let down by you, it’s as though they’ve been let down by a close friend or family member, and their reactions can often feel excessive until I remind myself of this. It’s honestly something I haven’t experienced up until this point, and I’m still not sure how to navigate it.



I recently saw a friend with whom I often discuss various social and political topics, and she is usually very vocal on social media with it all. When we spoke about current events, I asked her why she’d not said anything, as it seemed unusual for her. She proceeded to tell me about some of the things that had happened to her over the last few months. They were a series of events I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and she was here speaking about them candidly as if she were telling me about what she’d just had for lunch. She explained that she’d been using social media as an escape from her life; however, currently, the thought of logging on and seeing all the atrocities and vitirol would send her over the edge. I immediately felt stupid for asking her why she hadn’t said anything in the first place. How hypocritical of me to make an assumption about her life and situation because of what I’d seen (or not seen) on social media. The newfound empathy I’d gained in recent years, which I usually saw as a negative, finally appeared as a positive. I could understand others without making assumptions. Assumptions about their life, assumptions about their actions. I stopped trying to make sense of why people did certain things, because in reality, it has nothing to do with me, even though I can be on the receiving end of it. Even though people are still sending me horrible messages, I realised I could empathise with their feelings without placing judgment and then move on instead of assuming that all of their anger and pain is because of me. After a few hours of stewing over all of this and reaching this realisation, I drifted off to sleep with some sense of peace.




The rest of the day was filled with me trying to keep my eyes open amongst my various calls and meetings. One of them was with John Lewis, as I have a Christmas brand deal with them, and that whole situation felt like a strange full-circle moment. My first grown-up job after University was in their head office, so it was ironic that they were paying me to make content for them when I had to beg them for a crumb of a pay rise. It was funny reading through their brief and the other material they sent me and seeing the names of people I used to work with who were still there. It was a reminder of just how much life can change in a short space of time. After an endless amount of washing and organising, which included the mountain of post and PR packages that had been delivered in my absence, I snuck off to Iris Avenue for a date with Rhubarb. I ran into a really nice follower on my walk down (if you’re reading this, hello!), and she told me that she started going to Iris Avenue because of me. For anyone who does go or is thinking of going, if you tell them you know Rhubarb, they will give you 10% off! Anyway, I had a little autumnal manicure (an orangey tortoiseshell with little gold flakes), took a cup of their mulled wine to go (very good btw, it has tons of flavour) and went home to run myself a bath. One item I received while away was the SpaceNK ‘Parisian Gardens’ bubble bath. It smells great and produces a hell of a lot of bubbles, so I was happy with that.





Despite doubling up on melatonin and having a bedtime tea, I still woke up at the crack of arse and lay awake for an uncomfortably long time. Luckily, the invasive thoughts I’d had the previous morning didn’t make an appearance, and I instead pondered over a few different things. By ‘things’, I mean the storylines Rhubarb would have should I ever choose to write her as a character in a children’s book. I also thought back to the time I had to have a camera down my throat to look at my stomach (the technical name escapes me), and the doctor kept getting frustrated at me for pulling the camera out because I insisted I couldn’t breathe. He ended up doubling my drug dosage, but that still didn’t stop me from fighting off the two nurses and rendering the whole exam useless. He made a pointed comment about how the combination and volume of drugs should have rendered me useless. I should probably look into why my body seems to have such a high tolerance to the drugs that are supposed to make me relax. Anyway. I eventually had to get up to take Rhubarb for an early morning emergency groom. Her fur was already long before we left for our trip, and between that and spending a few weeks in the outdoors playfighting with her best friend Bolly, she had become quite matted around her legs. Our regular groomer didn’t have space, so I booked her into a local one with availability, which I should have known not to do. Groomers are like hairdressers; once you find one that understands you, you never let them go. They did their best given the circumstances, but I did have a jumpscare when I eventually picked her up. She looked like she’d been scalped. To make matters worse, it was pissing down with rain, so by the time we got home; she was basically just a piece of damp fur propped up by some twiglets. The drop in temperature also means that she’s far colder than usual, so she’s been wrapped up in various jumpers and coats ever since. I can’t wait for the ozempic rumours to start circulating about her amongst her social circles.



The afternoon was a combination of me trying to work and get Taylor Swift tickets. I’d given up hope of ever getting tickets as I thought I’d never make it off the waitlist, so I put everything on hold to be fully prepared. I had alarms set, pages pre-loaded, a game plan with my friend (we had pledged allegiance to one another when the tour was first announced) and a top tier wifi connection. None of that mattered, however, as Ticketmaster fucked me by freezing when I needed it the most, and by the time I made it back in the queue, the tickets had all gone. Between the jetlag, Rhubarb’s new buzzcut and my failed ticket attempt, I felt rather grumpy. I made a cup of toffee sticky chai and had a quick mindless stroll through social media (something I’ve been trying to do less of throughout the day) when I saw that Brit Marling had posted about her and Zal’s new show being aired that day. For those who don’t know Brit and Zal, they were the creators of The OA, not only one of my favourite shows of all time but one that was cancelled at a pivotal moment, leaving all of us reeling and with more questions than answers. Four years later, we were finally getting another story from Brit and Zal in the form of a murder mystery called ‘A Murder At The End Of The World’. After two episodes, I could already tell this series was going to be magnificent (without being too biased). The cinematography is stunning, and you can tell every shot has intention. The chemistry between Emma Corrin and Harris Dickinson is magnetic — the strangers, to friends, to potential lovers pipeline often falls flat during one of the above points, but they make every step feel believable. Currently, the premise feels closer to Knives Out than anything else I can think of on TV recently, but knowing Brit and Zal, I know we will be taken on an unexpected journey (their preference is usually something otherworldly that transcends time and space). I believe episodes are coming out weekly, so if you’re looking for something to tide you over until Christmas, start with this one. In the evening, Henry’s parents came over as it was Henry’s father’s birthday so we celebrated with some champagne and present opening before they headed off to dinner and Henry and I fell asleep at a respectable time.






I woke up with a new sense of purpose, knowing that today was my second shot at getting Taylor Swift tickets. I started my morning by making porridge (cacao and date from Daylesford) and a Vietnamese coffee with the condensed milk sachets I stole from the airport lounge in Tenerife. The following 2 hours were dedicated to filming a video in partnership with Christophe Robin, a brand I’ve worked with for over two years now. I have a pretty seamless process for filming most videos, which you think would make it easier, but they always take far longer than I budget for. By the time this newsletter goes out, I assume their Black Friday sale will still be happening, which is 40% off everything, so you can use ‘TAMSIN’ for an extra 10% off if you wish! If you’re going to buy anything, make it the regenerating mask and the scalp scrub. Before lunch, I spent some time on the next Rhubarb Society product we are developing, our take on the Ralph Lauren teddy jumpers. By chance, a few months ago, I ended up seeing an old colleague (for the first time in a decade!) who has since gone on to design for brands like Hugo Boss and Pringle, and she has been helping me with the process (who knew things like tech packs existed, let alone were so crucial to the process?). Attention to detail has always been an important part for me, and whilst, as always, this is making the process much longer, I’m happy it’s being done properly. For the inside label, I toyed with the idea of making it reminiscent of the handwritten name tags we had sewn into school uniforms, and I eventually landed on the idea of having it say ‘IF LOST PLEASE RETURN TO’ with ‘The Rhubarb Society’ written in my own handwriting. Unnecessary? Probably. But I like that it has a personal and nostalgic touch.



For lunch, Henry and I went to Nopi in Soho, an Ottolenghi restaurant. Prior to leaving, I realised our reservation collided with the Taylor Swift ticket release time, so I embarrassingly took my laptop to the restaurant with me so I wouldn’t miss out again. I’ve previously liked the food at Ottolenghi, and this was our first time trying Nopi, so we had high hopes. We ordered the maple roasted carrots (delicious), the delica pumpkin (love the dressing more than the actual pumpkin), the sea bass sag aloo (I was sceptical but it was fantastic; the sea bass had perfectly crispy skin), the half spring chicken (light and well flavoured), the shawarma lamb rump (slightly too chewy for me), and the broccolini. Somewhere in the middle of this, I was frantically buying Taylor Swift tickets, only to be kicked out as I pressed pay. The staff at the restaurant must have thought I was bonkers as I stressed typed my way through mouthfuls of rump. I eventually managed to get back in and buy the same tickets, which is nothing short of a miracle. At this point, Henry had already left to rush back for a meeting, so I took my laptop and my smug self on a crisp walk home. Later that evening, we got stuck into the Robbie Williams documentary on Netflix. After watching and enjoying the Beckham one, I was eager to see how they would cover the life of another early 2000s icon. My main takeaways were 1) how young Robbie was when his career started, both with Take That and his solo career, 2) how many BANGERS this man wrote (also, he wrote Angels at 22 years old? wild), and 3) the extent of his mental health struggles and addictions. From the outside, it was very easy to see a successful, self-assured young man who made it all look effortless. I thought back to Monday’s musings on empathy, mental health, and the danger of assumption. I wondered how many other people from that period would have similar stories to tell. I also wondered how strange it must be as a huge public figure in rehab. At the most vulnerable time in your life, you have to expose yourself to a group of strangers who probably know exactly who you are. What a strange dynamic.





After popping my zen gummies and pre/probiotic gummies (a new part of my morning routine), I headed straight to physiotherapy. I’ve previously spoken about how amazing Move With Eze has been at treating my body holistically and in reducing my pain and tension (as well as some trapped emotions and trauma). After my first session, I immediately bought a pack of 10. Today marked the last of my sessions, and it was eye-opening to see how much progress my body had made since my first appointment. I often feel a little spaced out after each session, and ideally, it would be nice to go home and decompress for a bit, but unfortunately, that is never the case. I’m currently juggling four brand partnerships all due in the next week, and they all need very different things across multiple platforms. A huge box of clothes then turned up as one of the partnerships is with a brand called Marella, the sister company to MaxMara; therefore, coats are a big thing for them. I was initially sceptical because A) the sizes I had to pick online were all Italian, and B) it can be hard to determine the quality and the cut of clothes when you don’t have a chance to see them in-store. All I had to go on were my experiences of trying on clothes I couldn’t particularly afford in the MaxMara stores in London. I was pleasantly surprised by, well, everything. The jeans fit nicely and were flattering (very difficult to get right when you’re short), the coats felt expensive and well structured, as did the jumpers — the composition of all of the above was pure too (no polyester blend stuff, it’s all 100% wool and cotton). My favourite thing in the delivery was this oversize white maxi wool coat, which makes me feel like a wealthy New Yorker whose family lineage has a founding father or two tucked away in there. Anyway, I digress.



After some filming, I realised I was overdue lunch — three guesses as to what I ordered…you’re right, it was an Atis salad! In between forkfuls of avocado and blackened chicken, I sat at my laptop, churning through some admin and writing up this newsletter whilst the new series of The Crown played in the background. I had seen a very topline review via The Know, which they had pulled from the Guardian, which was reasonably scathing. This writer had famously poo-pooed other shows I enjoyed, so I chose to remain ignorant. Unfortunately, she was right because the first few episodes of The Crown have been pretty dire. I’m not sure whether it’s because it’s now covering a topic that is close to home for many of us who remember the events or whether it is because they’ve chosen a new approach to their usual format because it’s a topic that’s close to home and we all remember the events, but either way, it’s not really working for me. They’ve currently only released four episodes though, so I will reserve any further judgement until I am done with the series. I would have liked to continue eating in front of the TV, but duty called, and I had to head to Mount Street to film some content for Mayfair_Ldn (very on-brand, I must say). They were switching on their Christmas lights, and I had a full itinerary of places I needed to be and the times I had to be there.



We started at Bamford, where they had an in-house illustrator doing portraits, so it was a no-brainer to have one done of Rhubarb. Rhubarb and I also had to do a picture moment in front of a giant lit-up wreath with a professional photographer, which was mildly embarrassing, and I know the photos will not be flattering (I hope they photoshop Rhubarb’s new twiglet legs out), but they’ll be nice to have as a memory. I also tried a new English sparkling called Roebuck Estates. As someone loyal to the Nyetimbers and Chapel Downs of the English sparkling world, I wanted to hate it. Alas, their classic cuvee was really bloody good, and it’s become a new favourite. Apparently, Heston serves their rose as a meat pairing in one of his restaurants. After a few hours of filming, editing (they wanted everything to be approved and posted there and then which can be quite tricky!), and walking around in the cold, we returned home just before 9. Starving and slightly juiced up on cuvee and mulled wine, we ordered some chicken nuggets and chips before hitting the hay.





Unfortunately, I’d had another bout of overthinking that left me awake until 2 am, so I was feeling pretty groggy. I only woke up because our doorbell buzzed so loudly that my bones astral projected from my body. At least this time, the overthinking was primarily creative in that my brain was humming with different ideas for videos, editing styles, and scripts rather than worrying whether I was the largest disappointment to have walked the earth. Anyway, the delivery that woke me up was an interesting mix of sauerkraut, kimchi, Cocos organic kefir, spreads, and an assortment of beauty products. I sometimes wonder how often my address is shared amongst PR contacts because a lot of things turn up at my door that I have no idea are coming. Anyway, I had a very late breakfast that consisted of a spelt ham and cheese croissant and a smoothie from The Good Life Eatery. I’ve bored you all enough with my various work and life admin complaints, so I will gloss over most of what I did in the day and skip to the evening. It was time to make reparations to Rhubarb for leaving her for so long, and Henry and I knew we’d need some time to ground ourselves a bit post-LA, so we were heading to a cabin in the woods for the weekend. The company, Unyoked, had contacted me months ago asking if I’d like to stay, but I didn’t want to stay for the sake of it, and I knew the timing needed to be right. Well, that time had finally come. I packed all the essentials (multiple jumpers and treats for Rhubarb, thick socks, wellies and hot chocolate flakes for me), and we set off. Unyoked specialises in unplugged, off-the-grid stays. Everything you need is in one cabin and stripped back to basics. Unfortunately, we couldn’t set off until Henry was done with work and by the time we arrived it was pitch black and raining. Usually this wouldn’t be an issue, but because the cabins are slightly off the beaten track, there’s only so far a car will get you. We saw a sign telling us to leave our car under a post, complete with a torch and a wheelbarrow. We loaded our luggage into the wheelbarrow and set off down a very muddy, unkempt path. Of course, it being pitch black, we didn’t realise that there was a small signpost pointing us in the opposite direction. After a few jumpscares from the wildlife rattling in the bushes and an electric fence later, we turned back and finally found the right path.



The cabin itself is lovely. Small and rustic, with a wood burner, thick, plush cushions and a duvet, and giant floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the bed that look out over the forest (I assume so anyway; it’s still pitch black as I’m typing this). There’s a small stove and kitchen unit, hot running water and a compost loo that requires scattering what looks like something that belongs in a rabbit hutch, down into the hole. Immediately, I started the fire (not to brag, but it is something I am exceptionally skilled at after years of both camping and abusing the fireplace in my childhood home). You are left with all the essentials you would need for an unplugged life. Hot water bottles, board games, a radio with a CD player, and a distinct lack of signal. I can only hope that this newsletter actually does go out on Sunday morning, and if it’s late, then at least you’ll know why. Outside, we have some logs that have been arranged as seated stumps, a fire pit and a pizza oven, so I look forward to seeing what I can cook up on that. It feels chic and cosy and everything you would want from an escape. They even provide all the bits you’d need to grind your own coffee beans (and I will admit, it’s the best tasting coffee I’ve had in a while). The Stanley pour over coffee unit and french press makes it even better. They have various locations that are dog friendly, and the prices are very reasonable for the quality you get. I imagine these cabins would be even more magical when it's snowing. With a life and a job currently filled with excess, this has been a nice reminder of how content I can be with very little. It reminds me of the Summers I’d spend weeks camping with my dad and sister, running across a field with torches in the night to pee and hearing the rain knock on the outside of the tents whilst we were bundled up inside playing card games. I now actually want to build my own cabin somewhere, and I’m sure I’ll now spend many sleepless nights mentally designing. In the summer, Rhubarb was given a stoov heated dog bed, which is finally finding some use and is currently warmed up and placed under the table I’m typing on. For now, I will leave you guys as some hiking trails and marshmallows over the fire are calling. That and the Folklore album on repeat.




If you have enjoyed today’s issue (or any issue) of The Rhubarb Society, please feel free to share with those closest to you using the button below. Thank you for supporting the Society, and we look forward to seeing you in the next issue.


Tamsin & Rhubarb

xoxo

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